


Can't Sleep

by Anonymous



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Post-Canon, Sibling Incest, Stan O' War II, Steamy Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 00:17:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18083714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: On sleepless nights like this, Stan's thoughts turn toward his brother.





	Can't Sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluestuffeh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestuffeh/gifts).



> Written for the 2018 Stancest Secret Santa. There was a slight delay in getting this up.

Stan rolled over in his bed, sighing. It looked like it was gonna be another of those goddamn sleepless nights. Now he had to decide between getting up and making coffee, which would make him feel tired come morning, or staying in bed and trying to get some shuteye, which would make him feel just as tired, but at least he could say that he _tried_.

At least his brother was sound asleep. Stan could hearing him sawing logs, in the top bunk. Early on in their boating trip, Ford used wake up in the middle of the night most nights, screaming. Nightmares, apparently. He’d usually spend the rest of the night in Stan's bed, in those cases, which was... nice, actually. Sure, it was a tight fit, and Ford tended to hog the covers, but...

Stan felt his throat tighten, and his eyes water. _Okay, enough’s enough_ : he got out of bed, and padded over to the kitchen, where the coffee maker waited. Coffee might make him cranky and irritable, but at least it didn't make him _sappy_.

(Yeah, sappy. That was the word for it.)

He leaned on the counter while the machine got the water ready, and thought about his relationship with Ford. It wasn't like he was in love with the guy, just… Sometimes, Stan felt a lonely ache in his chest when he thought about him. And there were times when he longed to run a hand through Ford’s hair, to feel the sea salt and the moisture as he combed his fingers through his brother’s locks. (Though _of course_ he never acted on it; it’d just be really weird.) And whenever he saw Ford dancing—

_Ugh_. Alright, alright, so he was in love with his own goddamn twin. He poured himself a mug of coffee, then headed back to the bedroom, where he slouched in the corner, slurping down his coffee, while he watched his brother sleeping like some kind of creep. Ford looked so damn peaceful, his breathing coming in light, his hair a little mussed from sweat. He shifted a little, letting out a small moan.

Stan shuddered, thinking about *other* things the moan could signify. Damn, Ford looked good, the cut of his jaw ever so slightly more handsome than Stan’s, those muscles that could just barely be made out under his sweater. If Stan were anyone else…

“Stanley…!” Ford was moaning again. He twisted around in his sleep. “ _Stanley!_ ” he cried, delirious.

Shit. Seemed like another nightmare. First one in a while, too. Stan rushed over by Ford’s side. “Hey, hey. Shh, it’s okay, Sixer. I’m here, I’m here.” He squeezed Ford’s hand.

“Stanley?” Ford’s voice was groggy with sleep. “Oh, god, it _is_ you.”

“Yep,” Stan said with a smile. “It’s me. I’m here.” He rubbed the back of Ford’s hand with his thumb, trying not to think about how good it felt, pressing skin against skin.

“Stanley.” Ford sounded like he was gonna cry, almost. “Oh, thank god you’re alright.” Suddenly, he raised Stan’s hand to his mouth and kissed it, passionately, tenderly.

_Oh, shit._ Stan was frozen in place, not daring to make a move. _That didn’t just happen, did it…?_ Ford had… a habit, you might say, of doing something crazy under the influence of drink, or sleeplessness, or whatever else was around to blame. Stan briefly wondered if this was like that time in Tuscan, when they were facing off against the jackalopemantis. But that time, Ford had thought (at least, had claimed to think) Stan was another guy, some half-remembered _paramour_ (his words) from in the portal. This time, Ford had called out Stan’s name. He had recognized his brother. _He knew who he was._ That was… that was…

" _Shit_ ,” Ford grunted, breaking Stan away from his thoughts. “Stanley, I’m sorry—I… I never should have done that. Are you—you’re not…?”

“Um.” Stan’s pulse pounded in his ears. He swallowed. “S’okay, Stanford. I mean…” He struggled to think of the right words to say. “Hell, I liked it.”

Those four words seemed to open a dam between them. “ _Oh_ ,” said Ford, relieved. He raised Stan’s hand again. “Shall I?”

Stan nodded, a roguish smile on his lips. “Be my guest.”

Ford began kissing Stan’s hand, slowly grazing his lips against rough, calloused skin. Stan closed his eyes, savoring the feel of it. It wasn’t long before Ford started sucking at Stan’s fingers, caressing the aged and wrinkled skin with his tongue. _Yeah, yeah_ , Stan thought, _more of that, thanks_. He pulled Ford off his hand, cupping his bother’s jaw in his fingers. “Read to up the stakes, Sixer?”

Ford smiled. “My pleasure.” He leaned down against the railing and kissed Stan, slowly, passionately, leaving Stan breathless. It was as if Ford had waited his entire life for this moment, which, for all Stan knew, he had.

Finally, with a loud gasp, Ford pulled away. “I love you, Stanley,” he whispered, running a hand through Stan’s hair.

“Heh.” Stan smiled and turned away; sap like that made him bashful. “Love you too, you knucklehead.”

Ford laughed, bright and sweet, and leaned his face against Stan’s neck. Together the two stayed like that, breathing each other in.

It was a while before Ford spoke up. “Stanley, did you have coffee recently?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stan answered. “Had it just before I woke you up.”

“You do realize it’s only going to make you tired during the day, right?”

“Stanford! I—Ugh!” Stan pulled away. “For fucks sake! Is this _really_ the conversation you’re supposed to have after starting a romantic relationship with your brother?”

“Well, I’m not aware of any accepted protocol in this situation, besides saying ‘I love you’, which I already did,” Ford stated stiffly.

“Augh!” Stan screamed. He crossed his arms and stomped over to a corner of their bedroom, facing away from Ford.

“Alright, alright,” said Ford, getting off his bed. “You’re right; it was a stupid thing to get worked up about.” He crossed the room over to Stan and wrapped his arms around him, laying a kiss on Stan’s shoulder. “Tell you what: why don’t I spend the rest of the night in your bed, with you? Just like we used to.”

Stan perked up at the sound of that. “Nice! You willing to throw in a little... _extra something-something_?” he asked, with a suggestive eyebrow waggle.

“Hmmmm, that depends,” Ford answered. “Some of us need our shuteye, after all.”

“I hear it helps you sleep better, y’know!”

Laughing, Ford kissed Stan on the cheek and pulled Stan over to his bunk. “Come on. It’s time for bed, sleepyhead.” Together they ducked under the covers, warm and safe with each other, letting their brother’s breathing lull them to sleep. Maybe Ford wasn’t going to cough up the “extra something-something”, but this was nice enough on its own.

Stan was just about to go back to sleep when a thought popped into his head. “Hey, Stanford,” he whispered. “Can I ask you something?”

Ford cocked one eye open. “Go right ahead,” he replied, giving Stan’s hand a squeeze.

“How long have you known? About wanting this, I mean?”

Ford gave a small shrug. “How long have _you_ known?”

“Uhhh...” Stan rifled through his memories, trying to pinpoint the exact moment he had known, but as hard as he tried, he couldn’t figure it out. There was too much to untangle, too much denial to sift through. The only thing he knew for certain was that his feelings grew more intense once they were on the boat. “You know what? I honestly don’t know.”

“So it is with me,” Ford said with a smile. He kissed Stan’s forehead. “Good night, knucklehead.”

Stan was starting to get tired of Ford hogging all the kisses like that, so he kissed him on the forehead, too. “Good night, poindexter.”

Together they settled into a deep and peaceful sleep, not waking until dawn.


End file.
